


Deal? Deal.

by wholocker78218



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholocker78218/pseuds/wholocker78218
Summary: When Arya and Jon get detention from Professor Baelish for the day of the most important Quidditch match of the year, they enrol their uncle Edmure to help get them out of it.





	Deal? Deal.

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoy writing for this fandom, especially Petyr. I know this is quite rare ship but an amazing blog on Tumblr has gotten me addicted to it. This is my first piece of Petyr/Edmure fanfiction but I really hope it isn't my last. I really hope you enjoy and if you do head over to my Tumblr and send me some suggestion for what I can do next.
> 
> @angelicdestieldemon

“You utter, utter idiots! How are you supposed to play in the match on Saturday if you’re in detention?” The fiery redhead, Sansa Stark yells at her siblings, Arya and Jon.

 

The two dark-haired teenagers stare at the floor in shame. In all honesty, they had completely forgotten about the match on Saturday and had they remembered they wouldn’t have set off stink bombs in the Potion’s classroom.

 

“Well, come on. How are you going to fix this, no one can cover you this time, your reserves are either in the infirmary with the flu or healing from our last match.”

“What if we ask Professor Baelish to move our detention to Sunday?”   
  
“And how exactly are you going to do that? He practically hates the two of you, he’s not about to make your life easier especially considering it was his classroom you almost destroyed.”

 

“You could ask him, you’re his favourite.”

 

“No, I’m not helping you out of this one, get him to move the date but I don’t want involved,” Sansa says, walking away from her irritating siblings and heads up to her room to change out of her school clothes.

 

After she has left Arya and Jon stare dumbly at one another, their minds working furiously to come up with a plan of action to be able to play in the match on Saturday, neither wanting to disappoint their sister who has been working hard to ensure Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup this year.

  
“I think I might have an idea.” Arya says. “why don’t we ask Uncle Edmure? He’s known Professor Baelish since they were kids he could convince him.”

 

“That might actually work, but how are we going to convince him to talk to Baelish?”

 

“I’m not sure, let's just ask and I’m sure he’ll think of something he can make us do.”

 

“Ok, let's go see if he is in his office if he says no at least we’ll have time to think of another plan.”

 

The two dart off out the Gryffindor common room and head along the halls and staircases until they reach the door of the Quidditch teacher and Head of Gryffindor house’s office. Pausing momentarily outside his door, Arya knocks- the sound loud in the otherwise silent corridor.

 

“Come in,” a deep voice says from behind the closed door.

 

Arya turns the handle and pushes the door wide open and enters the office followed closely behind by her brother. Sitting at a large oak wood desk sits their Uncle Edmure, his brown hair a mess and his robes slightly damp from the rain outside, he must just have come inside from the pitch. He takes one look at their guilty faces before groaning.

 

“What have you done now?” He asks, running a hand through his hair, messing it further.

 

“What makes you think we’ve done anything?” Arya replies, sounding more defensive than she intended.

 

“It’s written all over both of your faces, come on, what have you done?”

 

Arya and Jon look at each other before Jon answers.

 

“We may have stink bombed Professor Baelish’s classroom and now we’ve got detention on Saturday.” He says, his words barely comprehensible due to his mumbling but his uncle is used to this.

 

“The Gryffindor vs Slytherin match was on Saturday. The most important match of the year and you two are in detention, just great. I guess we will have to use the reserve beaters.” Edmure says glumly.

 

Arya and Jon were by far two of the best beaters Hogwarts has ever had and now they won’t even be able to play.

 

“About that…” Arya begins, gaining her head of house's attention. “ Our reserve beaters are either ill or still healing, we don’t have anyone to take our positions.”

 

Edmure groans out loud, scrubbing his hands down his face.

 

“We might have a solution though, we might still be able to play Saturday,” Jon says, quickly before his uncle gets too wound up. “What if you asked Professor Baelish to move our detention to Sunday, we would ask him ourselves but I doubt he would do it if we ask. But since you two have known each other so long maybe he will listen to you.” Jon says trying to finish his sentence before he loses his nerve.

 

The office remains silent for a few moments until Edmure lets out a sigh.

 

“Fine, I'll do your dirty work,” he says, Arya and Jon smile. “But you owe me.”

 

“What would you have us do?” Arya asks the smile swept from her face.

 

“You and Jon are going to help me with first-year flying lessons and everyday this week and next I want you to clean and maintain the school's broomsticks,” Edmure says, Jon and Arya stand with their mouths hanging open.

 

Arya tries to argue with the punishment but Jon stops her before she makes the punishment worse.

 

“Thank you, sir.” He says before pulling Arya behind him.

 

They close the office door behind them and Edmure’s head thumps against the desk. Unbeknownst to his niece and nephew, he has always had a rather embarrassing crush on the potions professor, going back to their childhood. However, Petyr had always had a crush on Catelyn and Lysa had always been fawning over him to really leave Edmure any real time alone with the smaller boy. He had always harboured a small level of jealousy towards his sister and this was only made worse when he saw his sisters practice kissing on Petyr. Edmure had wanted to join in but if his father found out he would not have been happy.

 

When Edmure found out that Petyr was coming to teach Potions at the school he was both ecstatic and nervous having not seen the boy, now man since he was 16. It had been a bit awkward at first but after a few weeks, it was like no time had passed at all. They ate most meals together and often went to the Three Broomsticks on a Friday for a few drinks. In all senses, they were best friends but Edmure wanted more and Petyr didn’t.

 

Standing from his chair, Edmure walks towards the door grabbing a dry cloak off the coat stand and begins to head down to the dungeons. By pure luck, Petyr was just leaving his classroom when Edmure arrived.

 

“Littlefinger,” Edmure said, pleased when he saw his friend roll his eyes in exasperation.

 

“I do wish you would stop calling me that or at least refrain from doing so where students may hear,” Petyr said, his Irish lilted voice making the butterflies in Edmure’s stomach flutter embarrassing easily.

 

“I apologise, old habit,” Edmure says, unapologetically, a grin on his face.

 

Petyr rolls his eyes again and smirks, “We both know you didn’t mean that apology at all, but nevertheless you are forgiven.” He says having locked his door and turned to face his oldest friend.

 

“So,” Petyr begins, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

 

“I’ve come to ask a favour,” Edmure says following Petyr heading for his friends private quarters.

 

“A favour? What sort of favour?” Petyr asks, letting both men into his private quarters, untying his cloak and hanging it on a hook by the door before heading to a table with a decanter full of muggle whiskey.

 

“It has come to my attention that two Gryffindor students have been given detention for Saturday,” Edmure says, nodding when Petyr offers him a drink.

 

They each take a glass a third full with amber liquid and sit facing each other on the couch in front of the fireplace. There’s space between them that Edmure is desperate to fill but he refrains himself from doing so.

“Ah, yes. Miss Stark and Mr. Snow decided it would be a fantastic idea to set off twenty stink bombs in my classroom, creating utter chaos and the destruction of many, many vials as the rest of the class rushed to escape. Would they be the Gryffindors you are enquiring about?” Petyr says, a semi-smug, semi-annoyed expression on his face.

 

Edmure grimaces, mentally berating himself for having said yes to helping his niece and nephew.

 

“Unfortunately, yes they would be the students I am talking about. The thing is, the Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match is on Saturday and our reserve beaters are currently unable to play.” Edmure says, not looking at his friends and instead staring at the glass in his hands.

 

“What favour are you trying to ask of me, Edmure?” Petyr asks, his eyes locked on the taller man.

 

“I would ask that you move the detention to Sunday instead, to allow them to play in the game,” Edmure says, finally meeting his friend's grey-green eyes.

 

“And what do I get out of this favour, if I say no Gryffindor is forced to concede the game and Slytherin will undoubtedly win the Quidditch cup. Saying no benefits me and my house a lot more than saying yes. What do I get in return? Where’s my motivation?” Petyr’s eyes are slightly narrowed, there is a smugness around him that really should not be as attractive as it is.

 

“What do you want?” Edmure asks, his throat gone dry.

 

“I want everything,” the seriousness of his voice gives Edmure goosebumps. “But that’s not within your power to give so instead I shall have something else.” He stands from the couch and rests his now empty glass on the table.

 

Edmure’s eyes follow Petyr’s every move, Petyr approaches him and takes the glass from his hand and rests it next to his own on the table. He walks slowly towards Edmure, leaning over him to place his hands on the back of the couch either side of the Quidditch teacher’s head. Edmure keeps his brown eyes firmly upon Petyr’s and his breathing picks up with each centimetre closer Petyr comes.

 

“Yes, this will do nicely.” He says, his voice low, making Edmure’s eyes dilate slightly before Petyr closes the gap and captures Edmure’s lips with his own. Edmure is frozen in shock, the can’t be real. Petyr would never kiss him, he must be dreaming. But he can feel the warmth of lips on his own, he can feel Petyr’s facial hair tickling his skin. And before he can second guess himself he closes his eyes and kisses back, with all the pent up passion he has been harbouring for years. Petyr moans low and responds in kind, one hand entangling itself with the short hairs on the nape of Edmure’s neck. Edmure grasps at Petyr’s slim waist and pulls him to straddle his lap, their chests flush against each other. The smaller man fitting perfectly against him as if he belongs there and Edmure groans at how right this feels. Before he can deepen the kiss Petyr breaks away, his pupils wide, his cheeks flushed and his breath short.

 

They stare into each other’s eyes and this time it is Edmure who closes the gap between them. His hands grip Petyr’s narrow waist, his larger hands almost encompassing the smaller man. Petyr’s hands seem intent on ruffling up Edmure’s hair before they slowly slide down his neck and settle over his collarbone. The taste of Petyr is messing with his brain, the taste of mint and whiskey overwhelms his senses and it takes all his willpower not to just push Petyr onto his back on the couch and ravage him. This is all he has ever wanted, but before he can get ahead of himself he pushes the smaller man away.

 

“This is your price?” He asks, breathless.

 

“I have wanted you for a long, long time. Now I have an opportunity I wish to take it. Will this be a problem?” Petyr asks, his pupils blown wide, his lips red.

 

“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” the sincerity in his voice making Petyr’s breath hitch.

 

Petyr kisses him again, and again, and again. Their tongues tangling and sliding together, the slow pace of tasting each other, devouring each other. Their hands twisting in each others hair, tracing the lines of the other’s body. Edmure lifts the smaller man and lays him flat on his back on the couch, Edmure unties his own cloak leaving it to fall on the ground before pushing apart pieces legs and resting between them, kissing his lips trailing wet open-mouthed kisses across his cheek and down his throat, biting the skin and soothing it with his tongue. He can feel the heavy beat of Petyr’s heart and brings their mouths together once more.

 

Petyr’s hands slowly unbutton Edmure’s shirt, once undone he pushes the fabric off Edmure’s board shoulders. Breaking the kiss he looks down at the solid body above him, his hands tracing down the defined muscles down the ‘V’ of his hips and grasps his hips and pulls them down to meet his own. Edmure’s head drops down at the feeling of Petyr’s length grinding against his own, both of them staring against their trousers. Edmure begins unbuttoning Petyr’s shirt but the smaller man’s hands grasp his wrists, stopping him. Edmure looks up to meet Petyr’s gaze.

 

“It’s not pretty…” he says, and Edmure’s brain reminds him of the fateful day Brynden Stark sliced Petyr’s chest open for asking Catelyn out, the day Petyr was kicked out of the Tully’s house.

 

“You’re gorgeous to me, always have been, always will be.” He says, placing a chaste kiss on Petyr’s lips before continuing to unbutton the dark green button down Petyr wore.

 

After releasing the final button, Edmure pushes away the fabric and stares at the silver scar from navel to collarbone. He can see the insecurity in Petyr’s eyes and leans down to kiss his way up the scar before capturing Petyr’s lips with his own and licking into his mouth, the smaller man grasping at his back. He pulls Edmure down on top of him until their bare chests meet and they moan low into each other's mouths.

 

“So, sorry to just burst in like this, Petyr, but two Slytherin fir- HOLY SHIT!”

 

The two men’s heads whip around to see Catelyn stood in the doorway. Edmure jumps off Petyr and grabs his shirt off the floor pulling it on while trying to think of a way to explain what was going on. Petyr stood beside him, his hands furiously buttoning up his shirt to hide his scar.

 

“Cat, what a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you?” Petyr says, his voice managing to remain mostly normal despite his clearly ruffled exterior.

 

“No, I’ll be asking the questions. How long has ‘this’ been going on?” She asks, gesturing between the two men.

 

“Twenty minutes…” Edmure says, his cheeks flushed at the idea of his sister walking in on him probably about to have sex with their oldest friend.

 

“This is the first time?” She asks, they both nod.

 

Cat, stands, looking at the two of them, before sitting down on the armchair to the side of the table facing the couch. Petyr walks over to the table with the alcohol and pours Cat a drink, she takes it from him, mumbling thanks. Edmure and Petyr then sit side by side on the couch, closer than before and wait for Cat to speak.

 

“What started it?” She asks.

 

“We were just talking and next thing I know you’re shouting,” Edmure says, wanting to keep his and Petyr conversation just between them.

  
“Is it going to continue?”

 

Petyr and Edmure look to one another, their eyes meeting. A silent conversation through their eyes and then Petyr’s hand is on Edmure’s knee and that's the only answer Cat needs.

 

“I’m happy for you…” she says, as though trying to convince herself. “Both of you,” she finishes.

 

Edmure smiles at her, happy to have her support.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot the reason I came here in the first place,” She says standing up. “Petyr, there are some first-year Slytherins trying to break into your storeroom, they ran off before I had the chance to identify any of them. I know they wouldn’t have gotten in but you should probably speak to your first-year classes and make sure they know how dangerous some of the potions in the storeroom can be.” Cat states, Petyr nods at her in agreement and she offers him a small smile before leaving.

 

Once the door is closed behind her the two men look back at each other. The room is silent and neither seems ready to break the silence they now find themselves in.

 

“I should probably head back to my own quarters, it's getting late,” Edmure says, not meaning the words at all.

 

“Yeah, you probably should,” Petyr says before kissing him.

 

Edmure reaches up to cup the side of Petyr’s face, holding him there. The kiss is slow and languid, tongues sliding against each other sensually, the heat in both their stomachs building before Petyr breaks away, keeping their faces close enough that he can still feel Edmure’s breath against his lips.

 

“If we’re going to do this, I want to do it properly. Have dinner with me Friday night, proper dinner at an actual restaurant?” He asks.

 

Edmure’s lips break into a smile, “Ok, but on one condition.”

 

“And what would that be, I wonder.” Already knowing the response.

 

“Move Arya and Jon’s detention to Sunday and let them play on the match on Saturday,” Edmure says, pulling back when Petyr tries to kiss him. “Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Petyr says, grasping Edmure’s collar pulling him back to kiss him hard.

 

* * *

 

  
“Sansa!” An excitable Arya yells at her sister.

 

“What?” She shouts back from her bed, reluctant to open her eyes into the harsh sunlight.

 

“Baelish has moved our detention to Sunday! Jon and I can play in the match.” Sansa’s eyes snap open.

 

“How did you convince him, he hates you?” She demands, having not expected her siblings to actually succeed in their plans and has already resigned to Slytherin winning the Quidditch cup again.

 

“Uncle Edmure pulled through and managed to convince him for us, it means Jon and I have to clean and maintain the Quidditch stuff every day for two weeks but at least we can play,” Arya says.

 

Sansa smiles, maybe Gryffindor will win this year, she thinks. Her mind then draws towards her uncle and how he managed to convince Professor Baelish into changing the detention days, he can’t have gotten anything out of it, Slytherin would have most likely won the cup if Gryffindor conceded. Before she can follow that train of thought she hears a band coming from the common room and rushes downstairs, a headache already brewing, what have those two done now.

 


End file.
